


The Part

by TrulyCertain



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Extra Treat, M/M, Something Made Them Do It, Undercover as Bodyguard/Client
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: It's just one night of undercover. A black-market aug auction. Nothing will go wrong. No-one's pining. Right?





	The Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Masu_Trout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/gifts).



****“Does he talk, or do you just pay him to stand and glare?”

Jim keeps his gaze level, smiles a little. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, to the corner of the ballroom. To Adam, who’ll be leaning against a wall like a particularly humourless shadow and probably watching all this, face impassive under the shades. “He’s a guard, not a guest.”

Their host is Scottish, but somehow still manages to be the smarmy kind of Brit. Davison nods. “Hm. Well, I can see why you chose him. He looks the part.” At Davison’s back, a ginger aug keeps pace, arm shining a dull brassy gold. He walks like he’s showing it off. _Peter Morgan. 34. Rap sheet a mile long._ Davison’s own guard. Compared to Adam, Morgan looks like a garden-variety thug, and his augs look graceless. Cheap trinkets.

Now Jim looks, matching the host’s assessing, _Are its teeth in good_ _nick_ expression. He glances Adam up and down, and tries not to let Adam’s raised eyebrow get to him. “I was more bothered about the content. He’s milspec.”

“MEP?” Davison’s meandering across the room. Closer to Adam.

Jim carefully doesn’t let his hackles raise. Though maybe he should. He’s playing the kind of person who’d talk about an aug like this - he’s pretty sure this kind of bastard would be possessive. Jim tilts his head. “The Americans aren’t so keen on that kind of thing. But yeah. He was pretty unusual.”

Davison nods, sagely. “I thought I heard an accent, outside.”

Adam stands, still as a stone, while they verbally dissect him. Jim wants to deck Davison, so Adam must… Actually, he doesn’t know. He knows Adam has feelings – has since the guy lost his temper and accused him after GARM, even moreso since London – but he’s watched him stand, calm, and let shit like this slide off. Water off a duck’s back. Maybe he’s so used to it all that it genuinely _doesn’t_ bother him. Whatever’s happened, Adam’s bar for _normal_ seems like it’s... fucked.

Jim says, “I dunno, I never paid that much attention. I was more focused on whether he’d stop me getting killed.”

Davison crosses the rest of the way and stands in front of Adam. Just looks, for a second, a little too close, reflected in the shades. Like he wants to either stare Adam down, or buy him. Then he says, “Michigan? Somewhere else?”

Adam says, blithely, “Michigan. Detroit.”

“Ah. No wonder you can look after yourself.”

Adam stays steady, silent. He looks like a bloody statue, and that effect would only be intensified if his arms were on display. As it is, the rest of him might as well be made of metal too. He tilts his head, just slightly.

Davison stands very, very still, and his expression looks like he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and realising he might’ve just made a very big mistake.

Shit.

Jim says, flatly, “If you’re finished poking my bodyguard, when does the auction start?”

Davison laughs. “Touchy, aren’t you? Don’t want anyone else trying out the new toy?”

“John.” He puts a little amusement into it. He’s playing the sort who’d do that. First names, aren’t we all friends here, that sort of shit. Everyone gets a name except Adam.

“We kick off at eight. It’s going to be a big thing. We got duck. Black tie, remember?”

Jim tries not to sigh internally. “I remember.”

“Have a drink. Get some rest.” Davison glances briefly at Adam, then back to Jim, and there’s something in it… Jim tries not to let nausea rise in his throat. “Have some fun. It’s a party.” Then Davison’s sauntering off.

 

 

 

He manages to get some air without looking too suspicious, after that. He’ll have to go back in and ooze his way into the circle to gather information, but just for a second… He breathes, and lets the noise of a party starting up fade into the background.

“You all right?”

He turns at that rough voice.

Adam comes up to lean on the wall next to him, and raises a brow. Asking the question again, even if he’s not saying it. It’s not the kind of thing he would’ve asked before… well, everything else – Jim didn’t exactly make himself approachable – but something’s changed in the past few months. Maybe the thing with the Orchid’s made Jim have “invalid” plastered over his forehead.

Jim sighs. “Yeah, fine. Long day. This lot are just... grating. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to do something like this. Last time, I was in your shoes.”

Something like surprise crosses Adam’s face – briefly, just a tightening of his mouth. It’s probably all in his eyes, and for a second, more than anything, Jim wishes he could take the shades down. Then he smiles slightly. “I’m guessing you prefer shooting to schmoozing.”

Jim smiles wanly and says, “Yeah. This org… Yeah, there’s a charity front and now it’s augs, but they’ve been smuggling weapons since half our team were in nappies. They used to work with Belltower. Excuse me… _Tarsus_ _Security_ _.”_

“I take it you’re not their biggest fan.”

Jim grimaces. “Find an Australian who is.”

Adam tilts his head in a nonverbal _fair enough_.

“You never used to have to specify which end you were from. Before they put the walls up.” He snorts. Then he glances to Adam. “What about you? You all right?”

Now the surprise is more obvious, and Adam’s eyebrows rise above the shades. Just for a minute, Jim thinks they might retract. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“I mean… the way they talk about you...”

Adam makes a humourless little noise. “I get worse walking down the street in Ruzicka. I’ll be fine.”

Jim just… looks at him, and Adam looks back. Not staring him down, just… calm. Waiting. Jim says, “Your idea of normal scares me.”

The hint of a half-grin, all teeth and kind of animal. The cocky-bastard slipping out again. Jim never thought he’d be glad to see it. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

Jim shakes his head. “Your comms set up?” They weighed up the risks of a detectable signal, but their network’s one of the most reliably secure in the world – Chang’s too paranoid to let it be otherwise – and with this kind of clientele, if they _weren’t_ communicating under the radar, they’d probably be more suspicious.

Adam nods.

“If anything happens… don’t be a hero. We need to get out of this one alive.” He’d pat Adam’s shoulder, but to anyone watching, he regards Adam as an object, not… possibly a friend. Definitely a human being. “Come on. I have to put on a fucking bow tie.”

 

 

 

It’s one of those swanky country-manor rooms. Four-poster bed, lots of mahogany. Adam’s got the adjoining; it was set up in advance. Jim knows he’s far from the only person who’s posted a guard.

He’s sitting and buttoning up his shirt, throwing the tie over his neck, when there’s a knock. He recognises that neat three-tone rap, and more than that, the sound of metal knuckles.

“Yeah,” he calls.

The door creaks open, and then Adam slips through. “Sir.” He looks at Jim, and pauses. Hesitates on the threshold, and if it weren’t for the shades, Jim would think he was staring.

Now it’s Jim’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

Adam shakes it off, whatever it was. “We’re gone after the auction, right?”

“The morning after. It’d be rude to leave early.” And too suspicious, he doesn’t say, but Adam gets it, from his expression. “Hopefully we get what we need.” Keeping it vague. The room’s probably bugged. Hell, _everything’s_ probably bugged. He has to run on that assumption, on missions like these. He hasn’t missed it. Jim adjusts his cufflinks, and runs a tired hand through his hair. He stands and can almost feel himself creak. He checks the earpiece and GPL – he hasn’t had to activate either yet, but that doesn’t mean things won’t go to shit – and…

“You, uh...” Adam’s voice is quiet, and he steps forward.

Jim realises right before there are black metal hands taking the tie, steady and gentle. Adam’s warm enough that Jim can feel the heat coming off him, and he’s evening out the ends, tying the bow, before Jim can say anything.

Jim has time to think that this feels familiar – and then realises. The last time someone did this, it was his husband. He swallows.

Adam’s head is bowed, and he’s... frowning. Huh. He’s taken down the shades. Jim tries not to look at the length of his eyelashes or his tightened mouth. Or strong cheekbones. There are a couple of locks of hair falling onto his forehead, and Jim’s hand twitches at his side with the urge to brush them back. Because Adam seems like the type who gets possessive about his hair and some part of Jim wants to return the favour, neaten him up. Yeah. That’s all it is.

...All right, so Jensen’s a looker. Jim’s a professional, not blind. Doesn’t mean anything.

Adam looks up. Just for a second, their eyes meet, and something shivers down Jim’s spine -

He hastily glances back to the wall. He forgets how green those eyes are until Adam shows his face.

Adam inhales. “Sorry. Yeah. The auction.”

“Then we’re out in the morning.”

Adam nods. “Sure.” Then he pauses.

Jim realises how close they are at about the same time Adam does, judging from the flicker of something across Adam’s face. The slightest darkening of his eyes, something uncertain -

Just for a second, Jim sees… something he can’t afford to see. Something that can’t possibly be there.

Then Adam’s stepping back, looking aside. The air lifts.

Jim should be relieved. God, he tries to be. But there’s something hollow in the pit of his stomach, and just for a moment, he wonders. Stupid. But he’s been stupid about a lot of things, and Adam always makes him wonder about things he’s never considered. Things he never thought he deserved, and still doesn’t. Things he might want and shouldn’t.

He _shouldn’t_ , goddammit.

“Sir?” Adam’s voice is soft. A prompt, a reminder.

Jim swears he used to be a professional once. He swallows. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Adam nods and turns. The shields slide into place.

This… this Jim can do.

 

 

 

The auction comes quickly enough. They’re still far from the only ones with comms lines in and out, though Davison puts a strict veto on recording. That’s fair enough.

And besides, just one purchase will be enough to put these bastards under. Davison and his cronies are glorified Harvesters, and Jim knows that because the whole force has spent months putting together this case. Tonight is more of an end than a beginning. After this, it’s all paperwork. Boring, but less likely to get anyone shot. He’ll take it.

Adam shadows him, silent, arms crossed. It’s like the parting of the Red Sea in here, obvious enough it’s almost amusing: even bidders with their own auged-up mercenaries shift away a little to give him space, glancing at him twice.

Jim files them away, matching names to faces. Smiles and shakes their hands and tries not to focus on how good it’ll be when they’re cuffed and out of the market for the long run.

The augs come out, eventually, when the pleasantries are dispensed with. Funny how normal it all is: the rising rhythm of an auction call, the hands raised. So maybe a lot of those hands are metal and have blades built in, but still.

Next to him Adam watches all the augs pass through, gaze steady. Jim recognises a stealth CASIE mod, a nanoblade system… He swallows at the sight of a metal-and-fibre heart, dark and silent. There’s the slightest creak, and he looks down to see Adam’s fingers flexing.

Then, thank God, they’re onto more nanoblade and Typhoon mods, and he makes three purchases. More than enough.

This place _itches._ He wants to be gone. And from the stiffness in Adam’s back, the way he nods and splits off to go to his own room afterwards, he’s not the only one.

 

 

 

Jim’s sitting in bed, running through exit plans in his head, when his earpiece beeps and kicks in. Which means someone’s telling him to pay attention.

Outside, he hears a knock on Adam’s door. Not loud, but loud enough. With that, Jim’s awake, a hand on his pistol.

And on the comm, he hears quiet footsteps as Adam crosses the room, and then a creak as he opens the door. “Hm.”

“Pete Morgan. I work with John.” That voice is familiar. The augmented shadow Davison kept, with the showy brass-effect arm.

Adam’s tone is wary, assessing. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“Look, can I come in?”

Jim raises a brow at that.

“Be my guest,” Adam says, with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall.

The shuffling of Morgan heading into Adam’s room, and then the sounds are all but silent through the walls. Soundproofing makes sense, in Davison’s business.

"I’ve just got one question… Why look after a natch? One who keeps you like this? Don’t you want to help one of your own?”

Jim’s heart sinks, suddenly, at that.

Adam still sounds quiet, steady, when he says, “Never a big believer in the brotherhood. And last I checked, you were working for a natch too.”

“Oh, so that’s what you think.”

There’s a pause, and Jim knows Adam is doing… something. Raising a brow, tilting his head, that expression that you realise too late means _Go on, dig your own grave_.

Morgan says, so smug it practically drips, “You haven’t met _his_ boss, have you?”

“Macintyre hasn’t been seen in years. Sounds like no-one has.”

“We see him. We know he’s one of us.”

Adam grunts. “We talking a neat little CASIE aug, or _one of us_?”

Jim tilts his head. He’s not used to hearing Adam talk like this. It’s… uncomfortable.

“Big, big car crash. One of us. We can take you to him, if you want to parley.”

“What, is he here?” That’s either a good question or far too transparent. But Adam’s never exactly been delicate about this kind of thing.

“Course he is.” Morgan’s arrogance is at least useful, unlike Davison’s. “And he pays good money. Whatever the Australian’s giving you, we can double it.”

Adam’s voice is flat, and dry as coal. “I doubt that.”

“I assure you, we can. And I think you know that. So if it’s not the money… Fuck, have you gotten attached?”

Adam’s silent.

“It’s not insulting enough being a pet? You have to _like_ it as well? What, is he screwing you?”

Jim’s throat goes dry. He sits very still, and he realises his knuckles are whitening. That’s not – He didn’t - All right, he knew they might think it. But he forgets, sometimes, what these people are like. He knows how they think in theory, but it’s different being here. And if there’s a tightening, something in the pit of his stomach, it’s disgust.

Adam grunts. “I told you. The money’s good.”

Morgan snorts. “Guessing he’s good in the sack, too?”

“It’s easier working for nats. People don’t ask questions.” And yeah, that one’s probably true.

“Yeah, which is why Davison’s the face for us. What is it really?”

“Maybe I just think you’re assholes.”

Jim wants to either snort or facepalm. A wave of fondness rises in his chest, quickly squashed by the fact that  _Christ_ , Adam’s going to get them both killed. This is why, for all the sneaking around, he never sends him on undercover ops. He’s too human for them.

“That’s better. Honesty is good. We can work with that. So I’ll be honest with you: you’re making a mistake.”

“It’s mine to make.”

“Maybe. You think loyalty will get you anywhere, in this business?”

“Who says it’s loyalty?”

Morgan snorts. “Right. What’s he got on you?”

Adam’s voice is still flat, brooking no argument. “Enough.”

Morgan pushes, “We can find more.”

That’s a bluff. Or at least, Jim thinks it is. To the world in general, Adam Jensen is dead or missing. Maybe ten, fifteen people know he’s alive. And as far as Jim can tell, none of them have ever met this lot. To them, Adam's Derrick Walthers, ex-con and glorified merc. And Walthers doesn’t hide the nastier parts of his record.

“Don’t think so.”

Morgan sighs. “Oh well. Your choice.” He’s perfected the same sort of smarm as his boss. “Thanks for letting us have this meeting.”

“Sure.” It’s flat, bitten-off.

“Good night, Derrick. I can call you Derrick, right?”

Adam grunts.

The door shuts, then. Jim waits until the footsteps fade. Waits some more. “Got it,” he says, quietly.

“Good,” Adam says, in his ear. And then, more quietly, “Assholes.”

Jim snorts. “Agreed.”

And then Adam swallows, and says, quietly, “G’night, boss.”

Sighing, Jim says, “Not like I’ll get any sleep, but… Night.”

 

 

 

Jim’s own knock comes an hour later. He answers the door, rubbing his eyes and trying to look convincingly like he’s just been dragged out of bed.

Davison stands there, Morgan at his back, and smiles at him. A natch for a natch. They probably figure he wouldn’t trust an aug. Davison says, “Ah, Michael. We just needed to clear up something about your bid. Take you to the downstairs office?” He pauses. “It’s where we keep the good whiskey.”

Jim keeps his hands open and loose at his sides. “Sure. I’d just like to call for my resident aug expert, if that’s all right.”

Davison smiles like a benevolent emperor. “Of course. He’s good company.”

Bullshit. But Jim’s glad for the lack of protest, even as he wonders what they’re playing at.

In the corridor, he knocks sharply on Adam’s door. “You up?” He feels like an arsehole doing it, but it’s part of the mission.

The door opens a moment later, and Adam has the shades firmly in place. His hair still looks perfectly gelled, his mouth’s a thin line, and this time, he’s left the coat off. His arms shine dully against the tacvest. “Sir.”

Jim nods. “Good.”

Davison looks at Adam, appraising. “Alert already. Good. I’m usually a lot harder to rouse when I’ve got a few drinks and some sleep in me.”

Adam just raises a brow, letting that clunk into the air.

Then Adam’s next to him, letting Davison and Morgan lead them.

At this point, these people aren’t even trying to be subtle. There’s no-one else in the corridors, and when they go down their second flight of stairs, he doesn’t miss the second aug sliding into step with them.

Davison turns, and grins. “Mark. My accountant. Here to help me arrange the transfer.”

Jim takes in the “accountant’s” broad shoulders, TYM milspec arms and too-smooth gait that speaks of leg augs. He sees Adam do the same. “Right.”

Davison turns back to lead, talking to the aug guards.

Jim presses thumb to forefinger to prime the GPL, and then activates it.

Downstairs turns out to be wood-panelled, and beautifully furnished and bloody large. They walk through places that are more of a downstairs drawing room, aside from the heavy oak desks and the filing cabinets and the lawyer’s bookcases.

Davison opens the next door so casually that Jim’s stepped through it before he realises it was heavy steel. And that it’s now shut. Maybe it’s the bookcase that lulled him into a false sense of security. Or maybe it’s the fact that he had to gather a few more pieces of this.

Shit. But at least he’s got Adam at his back and the GPL is active.

Davison approaches a large table, where there’s a Typhoon array. A mint condition one. He nods to it. “Come and take a look. The Typhoon’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

Jim says, flatly, “I’m all right, thanks. I’ve seen a few.”

Davison sobers. “Let’s be honest. The Typhoon’s not the best thing in here.”

Jim tilts his head, but his heart’s sinking. Because he thinks he knows -

Davison looks at Adam, and grins, slowly. “Look, mate, I trade in weapons. Of course I wanted such an excellent one. No offence.”

Adam snorts. He’s playing at impassive, but if you know him well enough, everything in his posture and the tightness of his jaw says he’s one step from baring his teeth.

“Get to the damn point,” Jim snaps.

“How much?” Davison says, casually, eyes still on Adam.

“ _Not for sale_.”

Davison rocks on his heels, and sighs in Jim’s direction. “Oh, that’s a shame. I’ve just had the cleaners in, too.” 

Jim goes for his gun just a second too late. The augs are faster on the draw, even if Davison's a second behind. At his back, he sees Adam look to him and do the math. Adam might well make it out. He wouldn't.

Davison looks back to Adam, and his eyes are sharp. “How are you feeling, Derrick?”

Adam frowns. “What the hell do you mean?”

Davison puts his hands in his pockets, and starts, casually, “The CASIE is really modifiable. Nifty little thing. You know it doesn’t just do pheromones? And you can customise it to be just a bit sneakier.”

Adam is silent, still as a stone.

“So… Impulse control. After that whole Incident mess, we found out that was pretty easy to fuck with. Especially with augs.”

No. No. _Fuck._

“See, Pete here” - Davison jabs a thumb at Morgan - “found a nice little way of playing about with the CASIE. And you...” He leans forward, and looks Adam over. “You got a massive dose, when you two were talking business. Confined space, too. Takes a while to kick in. Feeling lightheaded?”

Adam grits his teeth. And he’s holding it together well, but… Jim thinks he sees strain there.

Davison sighs. “We’ve found there’s a hierarchy. Everyone tries to get out of the room, then when they can’t, it’ll play on whatever urge is next. Whatever’s deeper. We’ve put a lot of augmented guard dogs in here with their owners.” His smile is all teeth. “Never ends well.” He tilts his head. “So, Michael…” His eyes slide to Adam. “How loyal _is_ he, really?”

Adam’s lip curls. “How many people have you watched tear each other apart?”

Davison looks unperturbed. “Enough. We started running pools after the third. Or tried to.” He looks over his shoulder. “Weird, how everyone tends to bet on the aug.” Davison steps up to look Jim in the eye. “What are you, ex-military? Had a good time in the war? Killed a few people? You Northern or Southern?”

Jim grits his teeth, and stays still. Doesn’t give him anything, even while his knuckles are white. Tries not to look to Adam, who has to be feeling something by now.

“You done?” Adam mutters, behind them. “Or is there more monologue?”

“Fuck you.” Davison says it with a grin. “Oh, and hanzer? Don’t think that onboard health system will help. We adapted this stuff for people like you. An aug made it.”

Now Jim looks. Adam’s leaning against the wall, and it should be casual but… that’s not certain anymore. He’s too still, but his jaw works, just a little. And maybe, just maybe, he’s listing. Or that’s Jim’s imagination.

Davison’s still smug, practically basking in victory. “It thinks it’s healing you, but it actually just pushes the stuff into your system faster. Gets right into the wires of you.” Davison backs up. “We’ll be outside. Have fun.”

He gives the guards an imperious wave, and they follow him out of the door, guns trained on Jim and Adam all the while. Dammit.

Jim stands there, in the silence, trying not to think about how close he came to decking a suspect.

There’s a _thud_ behind him.

He turns sharply.

Adam’s on his hands and knees, and gold knuckles shine as his fingers clench. “ _Shit_.”

And that muttered word, more than anything, is worrying. Jim frowns. “Adam?” It just falls out of his mouth. He could’ve kept the cover names, but seeing as they’re meant to be dead anyhow, he’s not sure he can care.

And then the shades retract, and Jim thinks, _Fuck._

Adam inhales sharply. “I think it’s kicking in.” He raises his head, and in the dim light, his eyes don’t look green. Or human. Jim stares into darkening gold. Adam’s hands curl against the floor, and Jim hears the low scraping noise a moment before he sees the marks in the concrete.

He holds his ground. The part of him saying _Bolt,_ _ **now**_ is fighting against the fact that he knows Adam. All this time investigating ARC, and Adam’s never seemed the bitter type. Not that way. They’ve seen enough killers who’ve used the state of augs as an excuse, and Adam’s always treated it with a kind of… resigned disgust. But the way half the world talks to him – The way people like _Mac_ talk to him -

Jim wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to rip them to pieces sometimes.

Adam gets to his feet slowly, and the movement’s too smooth. Like he’s thinking. Like he’s letting the augs take over while his mind tries to keep up.

Jim doesn’t know what makes him say it. Not like he’s been dosed with the stuff. “They said... whatever you most wanted to do in the world.”

Adam looks at him, briefly. “Yeah. Not a good idea.” Something afraid crosses his face, and his jaw tenses. Then he says, “Has to be a way out of this place.” But his hands are still clenching and unclenching at his sides. Jim watches them. Open, close. Open, close. It was one of the first things he noticed when Adam started working with them. For someone who can be so still on a mission, Adam’s body language is almost an open book, sometimes.

Open, close. Open, close.

Then Adam heads over to the door. Looks for a keypad, a structural weakness… something. His hands work fast, shining in the dark, and there’s still that tightness in every inch of him, like he’s holding himself back. Pulling himself back from the edge of something. Which means it’s something here.

Jim takes a step forward.

Adam’s shoulders tense.

Jim keeps moving. Takes another step. Another. “You sure you’re all right?”

Adam’s fingers pause. He turns his head, and Jim briefly catches the downward tilt of his mouth, the dark length of his eyelashes. “No.” Then he returns to his work.

 _Leave it alone,_ Jim tells himself. And then he leans against the wall, and searches for Adam’s eyes. Because if Adam wants to hurt him, he’s not going to provoke him, but they might as well get it over with. Not like he’d have a chance in hell anyway. And somehow... he doesn't think Adam will. And he has to know what he’s working with here. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Adam glances at him, and his fingers stutter. Christ, Jim didn’t even know they could, with all that onboard tech. Adam grits his teeth. “Maybe.”

“There anything I can do?”

Adam just stops and stares at him. Opens his mouth, and looks him up and down, dark eyes skittering over his face, pausing at his eyes, his mouth. Then Adam shakes his head, expression almost _pained_. “It’s like I can’t...” He rubs his hand over his forehead. “I can’t goddamn _think.”_ He turns back to the door, to searching, trying to find a crack or a structural weakness…

Jim reaches out, slowly. Puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

Adam’s whole body pulls taut as a bowstring. “ _Jim_.” Adam turns, too fucking fast, must be the reflex mods, and Jim has time to think that he might have made a real mistake here -

And then there are metal hands cupping his face and Christ Adam’s warm and Adam’s kissing him and Jim thinks, _Oh._

Wait. _Adam’s kissing him._

And, Jim realises belatedly… he’s kissing back.

Adam kisses like he’s pleading, like it hurts, soft and dry but hungry. Jim opens his mouth and takes it, presses back into it and nips at Adam’s lips. He realises he’s gotten a hand around the back of Adam’s neck to pull him closer. Adam makes a small, broken sound and presses up against him, tongue tracing briefly against his -

And then Adam pulls back with a gasp, backing up so fast he sways on his feet. “Fuck. I. Sorry. God, I’m sorry.”

Jim stares at him. Raises two fingers to his own mouth, where it’s still tingling and damp.

“I never meant to act on – You can fire me if we get out of here.” Adam screws his eyes shut, and his face is – Yeah. It’s pain. Pain, and horror at himself, and God knows what else that’s in that titanium skull of his. He swallows. “But I can… I think it’s lifting.”

Jim says, “That..? _That_ was what you wanted most?”

Adam looks anywhere but Jim. “There has to be some way out.” And maybe he’s not talking about the room anymore.

“Adam.” He wraps his fingers around a lapel of that overpriced coat, and tugs, just slightly.

And Adam finally meets his eye, shame written all over his face. So Jim takes his arm and...

Adam’s lips are warm, soft, even with the beard. His mouth opens slightly in surprise, and he’s frowning, Jim can feel it. And Jim just keeps kissing him, keeps it gentle.

Adam’s breath leaves him in a rush, and then he responds – tentatively, carefully kisses back.

When he pulls back, Adam’s eyes open, wide and gold. There’s colour high on his cheeks, slight but there. God, he’s fucking handsome. It’s been tiring pretending not to notice. Adam says, “I… you...”

Jim laughs roughly, knowing exactly how fucked he is. “Yeah, well. None of that matters if we don’t get out of here.”

Adam stares at him. Swallows. Then he seems to shake himself out of it. He nods, and then looks around the room, one last time. Tilts his head. “Huh.” He frowns, and his eyes… change. There’s a shine to them, and they’re brighter, somehow. “Guessing they never accounted for Smart Vision.”

Jim looks at him questioningly.

“Or they didn’t account for the Sarif version. Just the TYM knockoff.” Adam heads across the room, raising one shining hand to the wall. Maps out four corners. Stands back.

“Adam - “

There’s a crunch of concrete. Chunks of it and dust fall from Adam’s fingers as he shakes his fist.

Jim tries not to stare. He’s really, _really_ glad Adam’s on their side. “Right.”

He catches Adam’s slight half-smile. Then Adam’s touching a hidden control panel, frowning down at it. He presses a couple buttons. “Could be a trap, but the encryption’s pretty...” Adam trails off, brings up a touch-keyboard. Something on his arm lights up, briefly. “Got it.”

The door hisses and locks beep as they disengage.

Jim doesn’t bother holding himself back anymore, and clasps Adam’s shoulder. “Good work, Jensen.”

That flash of something in Adam’s eyes – bright, too real, and Jim feels somehow like he’s just failed a test – and then it’s shut away, and he nods. He presses his hand to the door, and it squeaks open – Then he pauses. “You hear that?”

Jim frowns. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

His comm crackles into his life the second they step out of the… vault. That thing’s practically a vault.

“Tell me you’re alive, at least,” Macready demands, in his ear.

“Here. Jensen’s with me. Macintyre’s on site.”

“Yeah, we know that. We just caught him trying to sneak out the back.”

“Where are you?” Jim says.

“Looks like...” A pause. “Looks like just down the corridor from you. Hang on.” Footsteps, and then Mac’s in front of them, looking mightily pissed off but relieved as hell. “They had some kind of chemical agent… Something about a modified social enhancer? Either of you exposed?”

Adam tenses. “You got it, right?”

“Yeah. We’re sending it off for analysis.”

Adam nods, and exhales.

Mac frowns, and with his usual delicacy, goes, “Right. That's that answered, then.”

 

 

 

After a hasty, half-truthful explanation in the VTOL back about the drug destroying one’s impulse control – Adam doesn’t look at him once, shades firmly back in place, and Jim can’t blame him – they separate.

“Get some rest,” Jim says, and puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

Adam just looks at him, and Jim just _knows_ that under the shades he’s hollow-eyed, exhausted. Then he nods, and leaves.

Jim’s halfway through the paperwork when there’s a knock in the door. “Enter,” he calls.

He admits, he’s surprised when Adam slips through the door and closes it behind him, double checks the EGO glass. He looks exhausted, and he’s half-slumped.

“Is it all out of your system?”

Adam nods. "It passed pretty fast. They probably figured it’d be long enough for someone to get killed.” His mouth twists. Then he looks up, and his eyes meet Jim’s. “Look… I… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For what happened down there. And you didn’t have to...” He swallows, shuts his eyes.

It’s too much, watching the pain in Adam’s face and the tension in his shoulders. The regret in every inch of him.

Jim stands, and moves to sit on the edge of his desk instead. Just a little closer, but hopefully enough. “You’re right. I didn’t _have_ to do anything.” When Adam’s eyes blink open to stare at him, he rubs at his forehead and huffs a laugh. “I remember when I used to have some integrity. But that was before I got pretty sure my boss helped try to kill me. And between attempted murder, and...” Jim trails off. _Whatever this is,_ he doesn’t say. “It might be that integrity’s overrated.”

Adam’s just watching him, patient.

Jim swallows. “What’s giving up a little more, for someone like…” That was meant to be flippant, but his voice betrays him. It cracks, gets too soft. “Someone like you.”

Adam’s eyebrows raise, and he looks so surprised it’d be funny if it wasn’t making Jim’s chest ache. “You… you want...?” _Me_ goes unspoken. Christ.

“If you do. I just thought... why the hell would you be interested in _this?_ ” Jim snorts, and glances down at himself.

He feels Adam cross the room. “You want that alphabetised, or…?” Metal fingers trace under Jim’s chin, tentative. “Yeah. Especially when you do that.”

Jim realises he’s smiling. He snorts. “Does that one usually work?”

Adam smiles, too. “Don’t know. Pretty small sample size.” He leans closer. “Still working out my success rate.”

Then one of them moves, he doesn’t know which, and their mouths meet. It’s soft, and then the dam breaks and Jim leans into it, pulls Adam closer with a hand on his coat and another sliding onto his thigh. Touches tense muscle and polymer, and swallows the soft noise Adam makes. It’s tender, sweet, the kind of thing he hasn’t had in years.

Adam breaks away to breathe, rests his forehead against Jim’s cheek. He’s smiling, just slightly; Jim can feel it. “Always had a thing for black tie.”

Jim turns his head to stare at him. “I thought I had to be wrong on that. But… I wasn’t, was I?”

And now Adam puts on that same blitheness, but his eyes are smiling. “You wear it damn well.” He tilts his head. “Perks of UC work.”

“ _Adam_...” Jim loses the words and just kisses Adam again instead.

They’re alive, and… this. There’s a mountain of paperwork and he’s going to throw the fucking book at Davison, but he listens to Adam’s slight, rough laughter and figures he’ll take his miracles where he can find them. The rest’s for tomorrow.


End file.
